


Age-Chilled Blood

by hollo



Category: South Park
Genre: Asexual, Horror, Multi, Polyamory, Supernatural - Freeform, Trans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollo/pseuds/hollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been fourteen years since Jude had left South Park and never looked back, but a most peculiar pull has dragged him back to his old hometown. He'd thought he'd gotten rid of the memories of his past, and pulled away from the most physical evidence of his sins, but now, returning to the place where everything began, he finds his memories were not lies, and the evidence of his past mistakes are still as real as before. There is no telling what awaits him in the eerie, veiled and slow-aging town of South Park, and with nearly twelve months still left, it's almost a guarantee that anything could happen...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.
> 
> A/N:  
> Story Title: A nod to one of Byron’s poems, though the poem itself has not much to do with the story. (When in doubt, Byron!)
> 
>  
> 
> Having realized and fully embraced that I write things that not everyone wants to read, I’m writing something that I would adore reading and chalking it up to fate to decide whether others will want to read or not.  
> Concisely:  
> This story is Red Goth-centric, in this story his name is Jude. Everyone is in their late twenties.  
> There are trans women in this story. There is talk of Polyamory. There is Asexuality. There are relationships that are outside the cis-het norm. In a way there is a furthering of societal existence in this story.  
> There is also a narrative of the supernatural, of existential horror, and of life. In that case there is a furthering of the doubts and fears that plague minds in the dark of night.  
> I will never claim to be a horror writer, but I do hope that I succeed at ‘author of unsettling and/or weird stuff’.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Please do visit again.

 

1

 

            It should have been a cold and stormy night that greeted him, and not the calm night sky lit by the glare of streetlamps dotting the street outside his former apartment building. He grimaced at the sky and its betrayal; as if nature were an actual being he could project his displeasure at. Re-adjusting the duffel bag’s strap on his shoulder, he walked over to his car and deposited it in the trunk, and then seated himself wearily in the driver’s seat. He reached into his jacket and from the inner pocket pulled out a solemn-looking birthday card. He set it on the passenger’s seat next to him, propping it against the backrest. He’d received a few more cards that week, but this had really been the only one that mattered. The streetlights glinted off of the silvery script 29 on the front, and his eyes lingered on it a moment before he finally put the keys in the ignition and started the car.

It had been a while since he had driven anywhere, and he reached out a hand to adjust the rearview mirror, frowning as he noticed that it had gone askew in his absence. For a second he saw himself reflected in its night-darkened depths; once-bright-auburn hair deepened and dimmed to a dingy chestnut brown after years of having been dyed black, skin no longer pale, but just slightly darkened by sun, with a spattering of darker freckles across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, cat’s-eye-hazel eyes gone a cloudy green amber after a parade of long and dreary years. He grimaced at himself, fixing the mirror and turning away. The car’s engine idled fitfully, in bursts and spurts that he could sympathize with. Putting the lumbering old beast into drive, he pulled out of his parking space.

The streets passed in somber shades of deep gray and subdued blue, dotted by pools of cool yellow at the edges. Semi-residential housing gave way to warehouses and factories, in turn giving way to weed filled lots and the kind of wilderness that only former urban development could leave behind. He reached the highway eventually, heading south and west toward a distant point on the horizon that he had once called home. Hours slid by, sticky and reluctant, leaving him covered in the residue of his recent past that he was so decidedly and determinedly driving away from.

A stronger past called to him, an older past, a past that dwelled deep inside that dark and shriveled heart he still carried around inside. He couldn’t guess as to why the pull was so strong, or why he was so willing to follow it. His entire being seemed to beat with the insistence, however, and he was unable to quench the desire.So his pilgrimage continued, solemn despite the rising morning sun casting its bright glow across the land he drove through. Quaint family homes dotted the rural wastes he passed, glowing in the morning light yet still projecting an air of decay and abandonment his way when he turned to look at them. Their glass windows glinted cheerily, yet all he could see was the deep black of the abyss beyond them.

The miles peeled away like skin off a healing blister, painfully revealing to him areas he had once known, new buildings and developments overlapped by his memories of wild fields and cow ranges. He wasn’t sure if he should grimace or not at the differences he saw around him, at the strange feeling that invaded him; he was returning home, but he was returning home a stranger, a reverse-prodigal son, returning to the land where all his sins originated from.

He reached South Park in the mid-afternoon. The town had grown in the fourteen years he’d been gone, the outskirts started much earlier than he had remembered. New roads had emerged over those years, and he drove through intersections he couldn’t remember, unwilling to take that first step in making the contact necessary to ask for directions. Buildings rose around him like walls, stealing the air and the sky and leaving him in shadows. If he looked hard enough, he could see the glint of sunlight off of newspaper boxes and car windows, but in his mind’s eye it was all shrouded in a dark fog that blotted the color from the world and drenched everything in watery gray.

How he navigated to the strip bar at the south end of town he could not be sure. Something was guiding his car, although it was a meandering, lazy sort of guidance. It had taken him most of the day to reach the club, and the sun was falling behind the mountains by the time he reached the building, bleeding red into the sky as it was pierced by those sharp crags and peaks. The parking lot was half-full, but the shiny paint job on the building's outer walls and the glaring neon sign sitting high atop a rotating, glittering pole marked the place as well-frequented and well-funded. Most clientele would arrive after dark arrived, no doubt.

He parked the car in a spot close by the main entrance, locked the door and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark hoodie. A mild summer night was coming, but a pervasive chill seemed to hang around him constantly, sending shivers down his spine and setting his fingers tingling with cold. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, and was instantly bombarded by loud music, glittering and fluctuating lights, and that odd, nerve-twitching feeling he’d learned to associate with…

Speak of the devil, and he does appear. Or rather, think of him, as was the case that time. Black leather cowboy boots shined to a piercing gleam, dark jeans, and a dark-colored plaid shirt that only accented the unnaturally pale skin that seemed almost translucent in the dancing lights of the club. A black cowboy hat sat atop the man’s head, eerily golden shocks of unruly hair peeking out from under it. Blue eyes glinted as the man swaggered towards the front of the club and up to the newcomer standing uncomfortable there.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” The blond drawled, eyeing the auburn haired man. “Back a little early, Jude.”

Jude found himself shrinking slightly from the other man’s gaze, unable to resist reacting to that odd aura that hung around the blond. Avoiding that blue eyed gaze, he fidgeted and spoke in a halting voice.

“Figured I might as well spend some time back home…”

“Is that it?” The blond grinned, and laughed. Extending his arms to either side in sardonic greeting, he smirked at Jude. “Welcome back.”

Jude shuddered, almost shying away from the other man though the blond hadn’t made a move towards him. He hadn't always felt that sense of discomfort and disquiet around the blond, not when they were younger at least. It seemed it had been steadily growing over the years, and he could almost breathe that chaotic resonance, as if it were physical particles in the air.

He didn't know how to respond - all he really wanted to do was turn tail and run from there. He knew now it was no innocent force that had led him to this place. He could feel the darkness hiding in every corner of the place, a malignant, seething darkness monitoring his every move. The blond watched him with a growing smirk that was turning predatory, and Jude was almost relieved when they were joined by a large, buxom woman dressed in a spaghetti strap black top, a bright magenta skirt and sparkling tights. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown and hung past her shoulders in heavy waves. Her makeup was loud; peacock green eye shadow and magenta tinted eyelashes, matched with bright fuchsia lipstick and a spattering of glitter blush over her cheeks that dazzled in the staccato lighting.

Oddly, he almost seemed to know her, a vague sense of recognition fluttered through his brain. He recognized the face but couldn't place it with a name. The dichotomy unsettled him, even as he felt relief that he was no longer alone with the blond.

"Well look at you," She said, leaning an elbow on the blond's shoulder and giving Jude a critical once-over. She seemed amused with what she saw. "Ah didn't think we'd be seeing you for a while longer."

Her voice was husky and attractive, but something was still tugging at his memories. The way she seemed so comfortable around the blond; her drawling accent, lazy as a snake; the way she knew him before he knew her. He felt his heart start fluttering in time with the strobe lights, but it wasn't until she smirked, that unsettlingly familiar sardonic line spreading her fuchsia painted lips, that realization struck him. He faltered a moment.

"Cartman?" He asked, more like breathed. The blond grinned.

"Yes?" The woman answered, almost expectantly. Her hand was on her hip, her hip jutted at just the right angle. Jude bit his lip nervously.

"You look good." He said. He meant it.

It wasn't the answer she was expecting. For a moment she looked annoyed, just a second, but then her smirk returned.

"Ah'd say the same to you but Ah'd be lying." She said, eyeing him critically, then added, "Be a doll and call me Erica, would you?"

"Sure." Jude responded, though his mouth was dry. Even if she was on the opposite spectrum from ‘friend’, he wasn’t the type of person to take misgendering lightly.

 Erica grinned, saccharine sweet. It was a deadly grin, he'd learned once before. She glittered like a diamond now but inside she was all cyanide, and the worst part was he knew it. 

He was beginning to bitterly regret coming home.

"You got a place to stay?" The blond asked. He almost sounded cordial, friendly, as if they had actually been friends at one point.

"Not... Not really..." Jude answered honestly. He had no doubt those crystal blue eyes would see right through him if he tried to lie.

"Ah know a place that's always got a vacancy," Erica said. Her brown eyes twinkled almost as brightly as the glitter on her face. "It's over on South Staten and Moore."

"That's not just a suggestion, is it?" Jude asked after a moment.

Erica twirled a piece of hair around one finger as her grin held steady.

"It's a strong suggestion." She answered with a low chuckle.

"We'll be seeing you around," The blond said with a cheeky grin of his own. He tipped his hat, and then offered his arm to Erica. Jude watched them walk off into the dimly lit, sparkling club, and it was like a cloud of choking darkness lifted from him. That deep feeling of unsettling grimness wasn't entirely gone, however, and his pace was quick as he turned and headed back for the door, feeling as if some unseen creatures were moments away from nipping at his heels. 

Considering the company probably kept in the place, the odds were high that they were.

The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, and the sky was a curious shade of bruised purple when he got outside. The glittering pole with its neon sign was abhorrently gaudy in the darkness. He could almost see the malignancy inside it as a physical thing. His mind started wondering about the workers and the clientele but he forced it off of such dismal tangents. He would be better off not knowing.

It was only with extreme self-control that he didn't go peeling out of the strip club's parking lot and racing down the street. He knew now this had all been a mistake, but there was no going back now. He could already feel those black talons digging into his shoulders; they would never let him go now that they had him in their grasp.

It was with a shaky heart and shaky hands that he reached the corner of South Staten and Moore. The block was taken up by a low lying, one story motel that had obviously seen better days. The paint was peeling off of the siding and most of the windows were grimy and smudged. A flickering backlit sign read simply "Motel", and under that in hand painted letters directly on the glass, "Vacancies: 0". 

The parking lot was moderately full of cars. Some were beat up pieces of junk, multi-colored and mismatched as if Frankenstein had gotten lost in a car junkyard one day. Some were well kept oldies, 70's era Mustangs and Camaros. Parked in the very last spot was a stately black Rolls-Royce with darkly tinted windows. Jude parked in the spot closest to the main office, next to a relatively new Toyota sedan whose model he couldn't name. Pocketing the birthday card and shouldering his duffel bag, he made his way to the office door. He eyed the night sky uneasily; he'd never learned the stars or constellations, though he'd known of their importance, but he could acutely feel a strangeness about them, there in the place where the motel stood. It made the hair at the back of his neck prickle, and hurriedly he tore his gaze away from their odd arrangements.

An old woman manned the desk at the front office. She almost seemed to have walked straight out of an old period movie, some strict governess from the early 1900’s. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun, though not tightly enough to smooth the wrinkles of her face. She was dressed in in a somber black skirt and painfully white blouse buttoned to the very top, and on her nose was a pair of antique-looking wire frame glasses. She looked him over critically when he entered. He wondered just how much she could see with those piercing, dark eyes.

Even her desk seemed ancient, a relic of dark wood that seemed to be carved in curious and strange designs around the edges. The legs of the desk ended in lion’s paws clutching what at first seemed to be orbs, but at second glance seemed to be skulls. At the third glance they seemed to be eyeballs, and Jude didn’t give them a fourth glance. On the desk stood an old electric lamp with a bulb that emitted an audible low buzz, just low enough that at first he wasn’t sure he even heard it. The light it cast seemed dim, but reached further around the room than it really had any right to. He hesitated slightly, eyes glancing around the sparsely decorated room as the stern looking woman continued watching him. There were no decorations on the walls, no plants in the corner or stools or anything other than the old woman, her desk, the high-backed chair she sat in, and the board on the wall behind her where the room keys hung. Each hook had a number meticulously written above it, and many of the key hooks were empty.

“A room?” She asked, though it sounded more like a statement. “For how long?” 

“I’m not sure yet.” Jude answered, licking his lips nervously. She continued to eye him, her expression unchanging.

“Twelve months.” He said finally. He was too unsettled and worn out to fight a losing battle that night.

“Eleven months and twenty eight days.” The woman stated, looking away from him to make notes in an old leather ledger.

“Sounds about right,” Jude muttered as she turned to look at the key board behind her. Peering closely at the numbers, she finally plucked a key off of it and turned back to face him.

“Room 47, at the south east corner.” She said as she handed the key over. Then, with a cryptic, knowing look, she added, “It has two windows.”

“Wonderful.” He answered dryly. Without another word he stepped out of the office and back outside. The air was chilly and smelled of damp wood. He did his best not to look around too much as he got back in his car and drove it around to the south east corner of the motel. He noticed, however, that the nearest car sat a good four spaces away, and the windows between his room and the one four spots away were dark. No next-door neighbors. Thank whatever gods still existed for small miracles.

Entering the room, he found it to be as typical a motel room as possible; a bed, a bedside table with an old lamp; a closet that he could actually fit in if he wanted to; carpeting that had turned a nondescript beige over the course of time, but looked decently clean enough; a bathroom off to one side with a faucet that amazingly didn’t drip; and, as promised, two windows; one facing the south, on facing the east. For a moment he watched the windows, as if expecting them to be something different, set somehow different, than ordinary windows. As far as he could tell, they were absolutely ordinary.

With a weary sigh Jude dropped onto the bed and stared up at the dingy ceiling. The motel seemed to breathe around him like a living thing, and he could almost hear the whisper of its lifeblood flowing inside the walls. It was either that, or rats. He found he didn’t care much either way. He could just start to make out how it was all connected, the motel and the strip club… and who knew what else. In a town like South Park, a small town that only grew slowly and aged even slower, anything was possible.

He couldn’t repress the shudder that ran through him then, however. These were things he should have thought about before he’d returned, things he should have considered, but didn’t. In a way, his exit from his previous home was rushed, almost frantic. He’d left behind almost everything he owned as he realized how short his time had become, all to return to the place where everything had begun. What had driven him out, across the dreary miles, and back into the sleepy, eerie town, he couldn’t say. He’d hoped that something had changed, or that maybe nothing had changed. He’d hoped that somehow his memories had been wrong. Now he found they’d been absolutely right, and even worse than he’d remembered.

In the end, he’d played the part of unwilling prey too well, and run right back into the web he’d tried to escape all those years before.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jude had woken well before dawn. A variety of odd noises had whispered through the walls throughout the night. He'd been sure the night before that he had no next door neighbor, but now he began to reconsider the thought. For at least three hours before dawn the sound of slow footsteps had paced ponderously along one section of wall. Woken by the strange sounds, he found himself unable to fall back asleep. The footsteps tread in a specific rhythm, one that became more familiar the more he listened to it. He knew that rhythm, he knew the pattern of steps necessary to create it, and the knowledge chilled him. It had been a long time since he'd tread that path.

When dawn broke the footsteps quieted, and though he had been made anxious by their pacing, he ended up falling back asleep shortly after they stopped. When he woke the sun was shining brightly through the eastern window.

He rose wearily, visited the bathroom, and was wondering where to head for breakfast before taking on the day when something by the door caught his eye. He walked closer to find three objects sitting just inside the door. One was a dark wood box, about one foot by two feet and one foot high. He eased it over to the side with his foot, giving it a frown. The next objects where sheaves of paper, and he picked them up.

The first series of papers were stapled neatly at the corner and preceded by a title page stating simply "Nightly Trials". He almost tossed the papers onto the floor next to the box, but remembering the footsteps, thought better of it. Instead, he lifted the box off of the floor, unsurprised by its seeming lack of weight, and placed both it and the stapled pages onto the desk.

The next series of papers were actually a folded page from a newspaper. Unfolding it, he found himself looking at the Help Wanted section of the classifieds. Several postings were circled in red pen. All of them were menial labor, part-time jobs that could be easily picked up and just as easily dropped. He glared down at the red circles; he couldn't decide if he was more irritated by the fact that he was receiving unwanted suggestions, or that most of the suggestions were of exactly the type of jobs he'd thought of looking into. With a frustrated snort he tossed the page down onto the desk and pulled out his duffel bag.

He'd barely packed any clothes, which meant he'd need to stop at some store sometime, but he had enough to get him through a week, at least. Once he'd dressed, he left his room and headed out. He'd remembered passing a truck stop diner the night before, and he headed there now. A few semis stood in the diner's lot, and he parked next to one with a bright blue cab featuring a leaping tiger logo. Entering the diner, he was greeted by the warm smells of a good old fashioned breakfast. Eggs and bacon and sausage and the sweet scent of maple syrup all combined to set his stomach rumbling. He hadn't eaten since the morning the day before, and eagerly he made his way to one of the back corner booths.

The drivers of the parked semis were all seated around the diner, most of them sitting together at the main counter. One of them, a dark haired woman in her thirties, was telling a story that had her companions laughing. Even the waitress behind the counter was chuckling as she poured steaming coffee into their mugs.

Jude grinned as he walked by, relieved to hear the sound of laughter and friendly voices. For the first time since stepping foot in South Park he didn't feel that foreboding sense of darkness hanging over him. This, at least, seemed like an absolutely normal, run of the mill truck stop diner. He hoped it stayed that way.

Sitting down, he glanced outside the window as he waited for the waitress. It didn't take long for her to reach him. She grinned lightly at him as she handed him a menu.

"Mornin', sugar," she said amiably. "Haven't seen your face around here before."

"I haven't been in town for a long time." Jude answered with a grin.

"You're from around here?" She asked. She seemed to be a nice lady, mid-fifties maybe, just a touch of gray in her blond hair.

"I grew up here." He answered honestly. "We, uh, moved away when I was fifteen."

"So it's been what, five years?" The waitress asked with a wink, and Jude laughed.

"Sure, let's stick with that."

Their small talk continued as she poured him a mug of hot coffee out of the pot she had in hand and he looked over the menu. He ordered a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, more bacon than was healthy, and toast, and the waitress walked off to put his order in.

It was nice in the diner, almost nice enough to forget the experiences of the previous day. Almost; but he wouldn't be able to stay in the diner forever, and that feeling of calmness wasn't going to last. He ate slowly, thoughts unwittingly drawn to what he had experienced his first day back. It was almost as if he'd never left, really. It was almost as if everything had been neatly packed away, waiting for his return. The box at his door could very well have been the one handed to him by the blond so many years ago…

A shudder passed through him, as had become typical whenever his thoughts turned to the blond. He'd forced himself to stop thinking his name, or gods forbid, saying it. The last time he did...

"You all right, hun?"

Jude snapped out of his thoughts, glancing furtively around. He hadn't noticed when but his heart had suddenly begun to beat double time, his breath begun to come strained. Raising his eyes, he found the waitress next to him, watching him with a concerned look. He forced himself to grin.

"I'm fine." He said. "It wasn't the best night."

She nodded as if she understood, patting him on the shoulder as she walked on.

With a heavy, steadying breath, Jude forced himself to calm down and finish his breakfast. It all tasted like ash in his mouth, but he knew he had to eat. Even as he tried to focus back on his breakfast, his thoughts turned to the items he'd found that morning. The words on the sheaf of papers he'd found with the box resounded in his ears, and his memories of past nightly trials crowded his mind. He wondered what had changed in the years that had passed, whether anything

He left in a dismal mood, paying wordlessly and barely managing a grin for the waitress. A chill entered him as he walked back to his car, prickling his skin. The sun was rising in the sky but he couldn't feel its warmth. He grimaced and forced his mind away from dark and foreboding thoughts. Enough time for that later.

Hoping to dispel the uneasy aura that had descended upon him, he drove around the town to old, pleasantly remembered spots from his childhood. The one he remembered with the most fondness was the old cemetery yard in the northwest corner of the town. It had been closed to new plots nearly sixty years earlier, when the newer, and larger, cemetery opened up at the western edge of town. The new cemetery was a pristine tract of grass, most grave markers being laid flush with the earth so that, on passing by, you could barely tell it from a park.

The Goth kids, of which Jude had been one, had shunned the new cemetery as 'modern' and 'sterile', entirely devoid of the aesthetics and appeal of the centuries old cemetery. The group spent days and nights exploring the overgrown and abandoned cemetery instead, finding which mausoleums had chains rusty enough to break so they could enter, which gravestones still retained their carved decorations, which inscriptions were still legible after years and years of wind and rain and sleet and snow.

It was midday when Jude reached the cemetery, but though the sun hung high in the sky the cemetery was shrouded in half-light. Trees he'd remembered as barely fifteen, twenty feet now towered above him. If the plots had been overgrown before, they were positively wild now, covered in brambles and ivy and flowering weeds. Wandering between gravestones worn illegible by the rains of countless years, Jude discovered that the feeling of darkness he was so worried of finding was absent in cemetery as well. Another island of serenity, he thought, buoyed by the revelation. And why not? That malevolent presence that had its claws in him had no use for the dead. It was the living souls it hunted.

He visited a mausoleum his group had frequented and found the evidence of their fires hadn't been touched in the passing years. There were additions in the cemetery which he didn't remember; small metal plates with epithets fastened to grave markers to replace the words that had been worn away, stones stacked where a gravestone had fallen apart. It was good to see his group has continued visiting the often forgotten place after he'd left; he assumed it was his group, as the other kids hadn't been so inclined to visit the cemetery for anything other than cheap thrills at midnight.

Jude thought back fondly on his memories as he left the place. He wouldn't have dragged himself away, much preferring the company of dead ghosts to living ones, but the truth was he had barely over two grand in the bank and there was no way that was going to last him twelve months. He needed to find a job, as the classified section at his door had reminded him that morning, and the sooner the better.

Driving around town, he kept watch for any wanted or for hire signs in the shop windows he passed. The red-circled job listings from the paper stubbornly stood out in his mind, bit he did his best to ignore them. He would grasp at any opportunity, no matter how small, to steer his own fate.  
Which was how he ended up across town, walking through the door of a small but well-kept pizzeria called Santerro's. The "Drivers Wanted" sign in the window looked faded, but he'd held enough delivery jobs in the past to know that that didn't mean much - drivers were almost always in demand in small places like these, where the pay was usually minimal and the benefits nonexistent.

A tall boy, about high school age, stood behind the counter. He said nothing as Jude approached, just watched him without even an attempt at showing interest.

"Uh, hi." Jude began.

"Hey." The boy responded. He had the air of someone doing his utmost best to put in as little effort as possible into their current endeavor.

"Saw the sign in your window-" Jude started saying.

"The sign?" The boy asked, his voice a flat monotone.

"...the one that says 'Drivers Wanted'." Jude said, then continued before the boy could cut in again, "I was just wondering if you're still looking for drivers."

"Who?" The boy asked.

"The store."

"For what?" The boy asked again. It was apparent he wasn't paying much attention to the conversation.

"Drivers. Do you still need delivery drivers." Jude said taking a deep breath and trying not to imagine throttling the boy.

"Why?"

"Because-" Jude snapped, then got a hold of himself. "I'm looking for a job."

"Oh."

For a long moment the two of them stood looking at each other.

"Is the manager in?" Jude said .

"Uh yeah." The boy continued to stand there looking at him.

"Can you get them for me?"

"Sure." The boy answered, then after what seemed to be a long moment's decision, he walked to the back.

With an irritated sigh Jude leaned back against the counter to wait. His personality just wasn't suited to dealing with people like that. It wasn't exactly suited for this line of work at all, but he could find no reason to look for something better. As long as he could buy the bare necessities he'd suffer through it. It wasn't as if he was looking for a long term job, after all.

He watched cars pass outside the window. No one else was coming in but it was still early in the evening, and considering the size of the place, most of their sales could very well be called in for delivery.

"Well hullo sir, you wanted to speak to me?"

Jude turned back around slowly; there was another voice that sounded slightly familiar. He wasn't enjoying all the familiarity that was hitting him out of nowhere. He'd gotten very used to being surrounded by strangers and barely known acquaintances and he'd forgotten how nauseous the feelings of nostalgia and familiarity made him.

"I was wondering if you were still looking for drivers." Jude asked as he turned around to face the manager. They were thin and blonde and about five inches shorter than him, with the biggest bluest eyes he'd seen in his life. It had been an extremely long time since he'd seen eyes so blue, and in his mind he knew he had to know this person from somewhere. Maybe they were another South Park native, they looked about his age, maybe they'd gone to school together. It wasn't a surprise to Jude that he could only place their face or voice vaguely; only rarely had he strayed from his tight group of friends.

"We're always looking for drivers." The manager said with a grin. They didn't seem to recognize Jude, and he was grateful for the small respite that offered. He certainly no longer looked the way he did when he was fifteen, and he was sure that the person in front of him didn't either, for though an inkling of recognition had passed through his mind, he found he couldn't connect the person's face or voice to a name.

"I'm Leo," The blond said, holding out a hand. "Leo Stotch."

"Jude Peterson." Jude replied, shaking their hand. They didn't seem to recognize his name, either, and that could only be another plus. Jude had wondered whether he should go back to using his real name again once he'd returned to South Park, but he'd gotten so used to his alias, as simple as it was, that his real name didn't feel comfortable anymore. The fact that this limited the amount of people who would recognize him was a bonus as well.

"You'll have to fill out an application and forms and such," Leo said cheerfully, "When can you start?"

"Today, if you need me to."

Leo beamed.

"Great! Let's get you started, then."

-

Delivery jobs may have been his main line of work for years, but even after all he'd gone through he hadn't been prepared for the sheer exhaustion that hit him as soon as he reached his room. Leo had taken him at his word, and put him on an evening shift that had him running in and out of the pizzeria's door with barely time for a bathroom break. Apparently three drivers had quit that week - two had found better jobs, while the third had just stopped coming in to work. Picking up the slack was much more labor intensive than Jude has expected for his first day.

Jude brooded moodily over the fact that he was no longer as young as he used to be as he collapsed on his bed. The mattress was no more comfortable than the night before, but even that couldn't keep him from falling asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.

He woke to screams.

A long moment passed before he realized they were his own. Even after he had, he had to struggle mightily keep them contained. They bubbled inside of him, almost as if they were physical creations fighting to emerge from within. He could practically feel their claws scratching at his windpipe.

He stumbled out of bed, his eyes flicking around the room. Everything was eerily normal and at the same time it wasn't. Nothing was changed but everything was different. In his mind he heard the grim and slow beat of a drum, resounding and ominous. He tried to tell himself it was his heart but he couldn't be sure he even had one anymore.

The walls of his room seemed softly luminescent; a soft red glow came from the windows. Jude lurched across the floor towards one of the windows, reaching for the cord hanging to one side. Desperately he tugged at it, forcing his eyes away from the view outside, but as he tugged the cord snapped and fell to the floor. Barely containing a strangled cry he made for the other window, grabbed at the frayed cord and pulled on it, desperate to block at least some of that horrid light. The cord did not break this time, but no matter how hard he pulled the blinds refused to budge.

Stumbling away from the window, avoiding the red glow, his eyes fell upon the desk and the grim items that lay upon it. The box did not glow, and neither did the papers, but this, he knew, was the reason for his awakening that night. The pages of the newspaper were gone; the sheaf of Nightly Trials was opened to the first page.

He'd foregone them for far too long.

The drumbeat resounded in his head, and the screams still clawed at his throat, but he swallowed down a deep breath, then another. Sweat had wet his brow and sent tendrils down his face; he wiped them away with a shaking hand.

Slowly, with measured steps, he walked over to the desk. The drum beat louder, and it seemed as if the red glow that struck such terror in him grew as he neared the objects. Hands trembling, he lifted the lid of the box to reveal a curled goat's horn, old and weathered and the color of old curdled cream. Carefully, almost reverently, he lifted it out and laid it on the desk. Then he reached back into the box and out of the hollow left behind pulled out a short blade made of a curious black metal. It's sharp edge gleamed ruby in the red glow.

Holding it in his left hand, he raised the papers for the Nightly Trials and began to read out loud In a quivering voice,

_"The Lord is my Master, my wants are His,_  
He guideth me through parched lands to lay in the fields of the dead,  
In His kingdom shall I find acceptance in damnation..."


End file.
